


Survivors

by baixue88



Category: Alien: Isolation (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Comfort Sex, Cunnilingus, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Non-Penetrative Sex, Robot Sex, Robot/Human Relationships, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 07:31:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3479639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baixue88/pseuds/baixue88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shamelessly self-indulgent AU where Ripley and Samuels both end up escaping together onto the Torrens and everything is A-OK.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Survivors

Ripley can’t really say why she decides to do it. Maybe it’s because she and Samuels have both been through the most harrowing thing she can imagine. Maybe it’s because she thought, for several long, awful hours, that he was dead. Maybe it’s just the thrill that she’s alive and breathing.

She kisses Samuels. He stands stock still for a fraction of a second, and then places gentle hands on her shoulders, pushing her away slightly.

“Am…Ripley. I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“Samuels, I really don’t give a shit.”

“It’s more than just that. I can’t give you what you want.”

She frowns at him. He’s really killing whatever mood this is. “What is it you think I want?”

He sighs, his ever-placid eyes reading her face. “Companionship. Intimacy.”

“I’m not expecting a commitment, here. I know you’re property of the Company. I get it. Just…damn, you won’t relax those Company restrictions for one night?”

“Whether I will or won’t isn’t really an issue. I can’t.”

She groans. She should have expected this. “Programming won’t allow it?”

“Not quite. It’s a hardware issue.”

Ripley is honestly taken aback by that. She hadn’t ever really considered it. “Hardware?” She glances down to his pants. “But I thought Company synthetics were meant to look as lifelike as…”

“Lifelike, yes. But about as functional as Michelangelo’s David.” Samuels gives her a small, apologetic smile. Ripley’s heart pangs. He’s too sweet, no matter what the situation. Way too sweet.

Despite this, the engineer in her can’t help but wonder.

“Er,” she asks, leaning herself against a nearby table, “do you mind? I mean, just…can I see?”

His face doesn’t register surprise. He knows her too well for that. His face also doesn’t register any hint of bashfulness or shame when he unzips his flightsuit and unbuttons his Company-issued boxer shorts.

Ripley leans down, and then kneels in front of him. To anyone else, it would look like they were about to put themselves into a rather compromising situation, but to her, it’s looking at art. He’s as realistic as possible, down to pubic hair and veins and wrinkles and, shit, he’s even uncircumcised.

“May I?”

“If you like.”

She reaches out and touches his shaft, runs her finger along the foreskin, even reaches back to cup his balls. When she pulls forward and lets go, it’s as realistically weighty and pliant as on any man. Though, with a human man, there’d probably be some kind of reaction by now. Soft and realistic-feeling as he is, he has none.

“Wow,” she stands, and he rebuttons his shorts and zips his flightsuit back up, though – she notices – only halfway up his chest. “So, uh, nothing down there? No feeling?” She feels like a doctor talking to a patient.

“I feel it, naturally. But it’s no more pleasurable than if you were touching my arm. And it’s hard to achieve an erection when you have no blood flow.” He gives her a wry smile.

Ripley’s stuck on _pleasurable_. “And do you find it pleasurable? When I touch your arm?” She does so, running her fingertips across his skin. Perfect human temperature: precisely 37° C, no more, no less. But there’s a light dusting of arm hair, too. Just another Weyland-Yutani touch: perfect realism.

Samuels pauses, deciding how to answer, and then: “Yes. I do.”

“Then…why don’t you want to do this?”

His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks as he blinks in confusion. “Well, I just explained…”

“Samuels, there’s plenty of things we can do besides the traditional.” She grins.

“I mean, I suppose, though I have to confess I don’t exactly have any hands-on familiarity.”

“Well, let’s give you hands-on familiarity, then.” She grins even wider, and takes one of his hands and lifts it, kissing the palm before placing it against her breast.

Samuels looks at her for a moment and then laughs softly, his eyes crinkling with just the right amount of humanity. “You really are dauntless, Amanda.”

“Keep calling me that,” she whispers, and kisses him again. This time he kisses back, though it’s clumsy and technical, with far too much teeth at first. Thankfully, synthetics are programmed to be quick learners, and soon he picks up how to soften his lips against hers, how to melt his mouth into her own, and when she nudges his lips open with her tongue, he complies.

It’s a little weird to be kissed by a mouth that doesn’t have any saliva, but here again, Ripley finds a tongue that is incredibly realistic, and this gives her quite a few new ideas. For now, though, she just allows herself to lean in to his inhumanly strong embrace, guiding his arms into just the right position. He soon takes initiative on his own, circling the pad of his thumb over her nipple – standing hard through her thin shirt in the cold air - with one hand and slipping the fingers of his other hand into the waistband of her pants, massaging her ass-cheek gently. She hisses through her teeth when he hits a bruise, deep and throbbing from where she fell hard through an airshaft.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Did I hurt you?”

“It’s fine,” she assures him. “Just keep going. All that doesn’t matter anymore. Just keep touching me. Please.”

He does.


End file.
